


M E J O R

by AkireMG



Series: Borradores Gallavich [6]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alpha Ian Gallagher, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Baby Yevgeny Milkovich, F/F, M/M, Minor Lip Gallagher/Mandy Milkovich, Omega Mickey Milkovich, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Pregnant Mickey Milkovich, To Be Edited, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:15:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22503874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkireMG/pseuds/AkireMG
Summary: Mickey thinks he starts to live again when he gives birth to his daughter.Not even his blocked bond with Ian takes away the beauty of the first time he holds her.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher/Mandy Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich & Original Character(s), Mickey Milkovich & Svetlana Milkovich, Svetlana Milkovich/Nika
Series: Borradores Gallavich [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584502
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	M E J O R

**Author's Note:**

> Again, a WIP I might never finish.

They ended the day Ian left for the army.

  
It was no one's fault but Terry's, and Mickey knew that somewhere deep inside himself, but his growing belly and wedding ring didn’t let him reach that liberating truth until many years later. Mickey was trapped, forced into a marriage he would never have wanted, so scared he couldn’t tell Ian not to leave. All he managed was a choked up ‘Don’t’ that only made Ian leave and Mandy call him a fucking pussy; he was, god he was, and it haunted him for months, just like Ian's memory would for years.

  
“He is not alpha,” Lana says one day when she and Mickey have reached some degree of mutual understanding, cigarette between her long fingers, body leaning against the doorframe because she may not care about her own lungs, but she does for Mickey's, for their baby's developing ones. “An alpha does not let other alpha take his mate. We fight. We kill if necessary. Anything. We do not give up, but he did not try,” she blew the smoke out if the house. “I am toy for money, a woman with tits and dick men without pussy and tits like to play with because we are not common. But what stops him? Why he did not kill your father? Why he did not kill me?”, her eyes are locked on Mickey's, fiery grey and icy blue that have been at conflict since the day they met. It's silent and cold for seconds that stretch out more than reality should allow. Then, she shrugs. “He is not alpha,” it's her final sentence, and she never gives Ian other opportunity to prove himself; not that Ian is ever interested in doing so.

  
Times passes with surprising normality. It's not slower or faster, darker or with more light. Mickey never paid much attention to those details, but he can tell changes are only happening within himself. Terry is running business, Tony is still in prison, Joey has a job that apparently keeps him out of trouble and helps him with his probation, Colin fucked off to God knows where, Iggy is fucking his way througth the neighborhood women again and Mandy is still lusting after Lip Gallagher. But Mickey is a wife now, upcoming baby and shot-gun wedding included, on true ghetto fashion. His mother used to tell him this wouldn't be his life, that she would make sure he had a good husband and a pretty house and everything they never had thanks to Terry wasting money that wasn't his.

  
“Your grandma told me he was going to be like this. Drunk and in debt with everyone but a bank. I should have listened to him and your grandpa when they tried to make me stay…”. She was holding four-year old Mandy against her chest, rocking her gently to soothe her cries. Terry hated when Mandy responded to his shouts and back-handed slaps with tears. He never got tired of repeating alphas didn't cry and that omegas better keep quiet and learn to cook a good meal. Neither Mandy nor Mickey had even started to manifest any of their second gender characteristics. They were children unaware of social norms, only wanting to play in the garden or with the few toys their mother got for them. Mickey liked playing with bugs, Mandy loved to put on their mother's dresses. “I'm just glad he had more children before me. I wouldn't have survived six pregnancies with him.” No woman or omega would have. Tony, Joey, Colin and Iggy's mother was proof of that, and years later, Natalya would, too.

  
After her accidental death (bullshit, twelve-year-old Mandy spat at the officer, a man whose hatred for women and omegas burnt so hotly inside him, he was infamously known for ensuring murderers and rapists didn't pay for his crimes as long as they were beta or alpha men, you know Terry did it, you disgusting piece of shit), Mickey knew there was not going to be a good happy ending for him. Under their father's absolute authority, omegas became tools, means to an end that would eventually be passed over to someone Terry owned money to or that offered him what he wanted to obtain, be it connections or product. Mickey imagined his worst-case scenario was ending up as a whore, fucked everyday for a coin, bred until his body couldn't handle it anymore, his babies took away to be sold to some rich family that didn't care for justice or moral. He never dared to imagine Mandy's worst case scenario, because fuck the world, fuck Terry's narrow-mindedness, fuck Terry, his little sister was getting out.

  
If only she wanted to get out. But it seems she suffers from the same curse their mother was unable to free herself of. A man. Her love for a man that didn't and would never love her back. A man too stubborn and stupid to see the greatness in the woman in front of him. 

  
Lip Gallagher would rather be stomped over by Karen Jackson than tell Mandy, only once, that he appreciates her. He would first be not the second, not the third or fourth, but the last option in Karen's life than the priority in Mandy's. If it was about not wanting her, not liking her enough, Mickey would understand. You can't force someone to love you. But that wasn't Lip's reason to reject Mandy. He liked her just fine, enough to share his heats with her, to called her just after Karen has let him down again.

  
The problem is, Lip’s convinced himself he's more than Mandy deserves. He'll go to college (Mandy sent the applications when he decided to waste his potential on this good-for-nothing piece of shit city; she sold and stole and made everything in her hands to get Lip into college) and there he’ll meet new, different, better people that will agree with him and whose validation he'll drink up like the drunk he so clearly is but he and his family refuse to accept. Being a genius, even when born omega on the Southside, has its perks. How could Lip be like his father, right?   
Good thing about a Milkovich, years later both Mandy and Mickey learn is Lip's favorite thing to say about them, is you can always do better. As if the Gallagher children were prime examples of good and correctness when Fiona does drugs and people as a distraction from the consequences of her auto-destructive behavior, Lip tends to drink himself almost to death, Debby considers his seconds gender as nothing more but a way to make alphas love her and Carl is close to be sent to juvie for all the psychotic shit he unapologetically likes to do.

  
“You're leaving Ian out of your critiques like I leave Lip out of mine,” Mandy gets why, and she doesn't judge him for his inability to see Ian from an objective point of view. “Our opinions of their family will be worth something until we either stop discriminating between the assholes we love and the rest of the assholes or we leave this godforsaken place once and for all.”

  
They do neither. 

  
Mandy starts going out with omegas she meets at late-night parties, fucking them one or two times before they stop satisfying her and then having a little pause before repeating the circle again. Mickey hides his belly with clothes big enough to fit two of him inside, ignores Svetlana as much as the circumstances let him and, when Terry is inevitably dragged to prison again, tries to forget about how everything, including himself, has changed in such a short amount of time dealing again, saving money for him and for Mandy so they can move somewhere else, so he can annul the marriage bribing whoever he needs to.

  
At the end of the first trimester, after successfully managing to ignore all he doesn't want to acknowledge, Svetlana comes home in a car. She's the one driving, and even though it's not an amazing car, it is better than any Mickey or his siblings have ever had. It doesn't look like it has been passed down a dozen times or that it was re-painted for an amateur stealer wanting to make some money for his hard work. First thing Mickey thinks, is that she took it from one of her clients, one so stupid he probably believes Svetlana really likes him and so he lets her drive his car around.

  
“Is mine,” she says without Mickey having to ask her. “You take it, I cut you.”

  
“Like I fucking want it, bitch,” is his immediate, defensive response, “and I’d like to see you try.”

  
Svetlana passes by his side and goes straight to their shared room. Mickey watches the car suspiciously for a few more moments, his mind creating possible scenarios that could explain how Svetlana got it. Stealing is the most probable, but at this point he holds no regard for her, so he would be happy to see her get arrested and play the victim card to get rid of her permanently. Getting her deported is what he wants to happen; the green card she got when they married and the baby growing in his womb make that a fantasy. Alphas don't lose their rights as easily as omegas do.

  
“Boy is mine, too,” she declared when Mickey was looking for options after Terry got locked up, “and it's late. You don't try anything or we both suffer when your father gets out.”

  
It wasn't late. It wasn't the only way. They could be long gone by the time Terry got out, but Svetlana wanted to secure her grip on him using the thing as leverage, make herself as legal as she could with an American wife and an American child and everything else Mickey could give her. Maybe more children, if Mickey didn't kill himself or her before his next heat.

  
“Boy?”, he asked, then, because no, he hadn't given that recognition, let alone a gender. He didn't want to give it a name or think of what he would do when the time to take care of it came around. Contemplating a future with that baby, having to see it, hear it, touch it, filled him with fear, regret, repulsion and desperation. His belly wasn't even that prominent yet; the idea of how big he would get during the next few months…

  
Surprisingly, Svetlana smiled. Not soft or warm or good, but sharp and bitter and mean.

  
“Záitsev women do not produce girls,” she explained.

  
That sounded all too familiar for Mickey to even remotely like it.

  
“Milkoviches are not betas.”

  
They both cursed their families' history and secretly wished the little thing inside Mickey was a beta girl That would be much easier for the unlucky child. Less to prove and lose, more freedom and opportunities. 

  
“They will manage,” Svetlana said. “With father like me and mother like you, they will know how to get what they want.” Mickey didn't liked the implication of them raising it together or believed that was an option for someone with Terry as their grandfather, but Svetlana couldn't have known Nikka was just a few weeks away from her, or Mickey that Alistair Slora would take a liking to him after seeing him just one time.

  
Mickey knew of Nikka long before Svetlana bothered to tell him her name. One nigh, while he was trying to sleep on their bed (none of them liked it, but it was a shared mattress or one of the worn-out couches in the living room), Svetlana came home smelling like nothing Mickey had smelled before. It was sour, thick, so disgusting he gagged at the first sniff.

  
“Ah, what the hell?! Take a shower, would you? I don't need to smell that all fucking night. God, you stink.” He had recoiled against the headboard, nose wrinkled, breathing througth his mouth to avoid the stench. Svetlana was, as always, ignoring him, calmly taking her clothes off to change into something her clients hadn’t touch once. When she was ready to go to sleep a good ten hours, she walked to Mickey's side of the bed just to watch him cover his mouth and nose. Fuck. What a fucking lady he got for a husband. 

  
“It is bad, yes?”, she asked, her smile mischievous and spiteful, and Mickey had the impulse of hitting her, work-out their differences the way he was taught, but he reigned it in just because he knew he would lose; an almost-four-months pregnant omega beating an alpha? Yeah, right. Svetlana was aware of the probabilities, too, smugly so, and Mickey wouldn't fucking give her any kind of satisfaction if he could help it. Fuck her. “Imagine that, everyday, since I put baby in you until carrot boy leaves.”

  
“What the fuck do you mean?”, he hated the reminder both of how the baby came to be and of Ian joining the army under a fake name, and she was too close for comfort, pale skin merely a few inches away. Mickey wanted to crawl under the bed just to get away from her.

  
“This is how you smell to me when he's here waiting for you. You are not my omega, but you are with my child, so this is how you smell.”

  
Mickey hadn't considered it. The fact she was married to an omega that not only hated her, but was fucking another alpha before her, and had been doing so for years. Biology is a bitch, and it's an alpha's instinct to repudiate a claimed omega, just like it's an omega's to reject advances that don't come from their alphas. It would have been different if Mickey was bonded before her. He wouldn't have conceived with anyone but his bonded. That option, though, was never one he had. Or wanted. The bare-footed, pregnant housewife image was not his aspiration in life, but that's exactly what he got. 

  
Svetlana thought he was being inconvenienced by a little smell? That he cared that she had to live around it the first two months of their fucking marriage? That something in the fuckin air was going to make him lose his nerve like the fucking parasite in his stomach was eating his sanity away piece by piece?

  
She was way crazier than he initially thought.

  
“It vanished, didn't it? Complain when you're forced to keep it inside your body.”

  
Svetlana backed away. After seconds of tense silence, she took her place on the left side of the bed, still reeking like a motherfucker, and much less entertained by the whole thing.

  
“I am glad I do not have a womb.”

  
Mickey scoffed.

  
“Me too. You would've given the kid fucking nicotine addiction.”

  
“Maybe,” she accepted crossing her arms. “And you wouldn't have cared that I did.”

  
What an absolute bunch of crap they tended to fantasize about. It was a result of their whole lives being defined by their second genders, Mickey thought at fifteen after Terry tried to hold him down and fuck him during a heat; not the first or last time it happened. Pure fucking useless and pathetic wistful thinking, Svetlana concluded when she was in Russia and her father told her she was going to America to work; like he ever taught her how to do something useful.

  
“Maybe,” he said getting the blanket off himself; Svetlana eyed him sideways, no doubt trying to check on the state of his hidden belly, Mickey could tell, but she didn't make any remark about it. “Not that you would care, either,” he mumbled before standing up and going to Mandy's empty room. His sister's scent lulled him to sleep in minutes; the locked, barricaded with a nightstand door helped, too. The mattress faintly smelled of another omega, one whose bloodline Mickey would've recognized anywhere, that he knew intimately and deeply. The thoughts gave him nightmares.

  
Now, a month later, they are so past that initial animosity it seems unreal. Svetlana is the kind of alpha her father didn't raise her to be; she always was, but the circumstances and survival instincts were more powerful than everything else before Nikka. Mickey is the type of omega his father constantly repeated were in need of a beating to remember their place; not that he wasn’t before, but the wedding ring and his big belly make it harder for him to stand up, so much sweeter when he achieves it.

  
None of them think about the day Terry is going to be released from prison. It's months away, so distant it would be a waste of time caring about his return. Besides, even if he gets out earlier for good behavior (fucking unlikely), they have a plan. Svetlana won't let anyone come between her and Nikka, and Mickey has been past his breaking point since the day he met her, so, really, there's much more to win than to lose. Nikka and Alistair are the principal reason they were able to reach common ground and work as a team instead of sabotaging each other. In the end, they have greater chances together, using what they both know to accomplish a mutually beneficial goal and be able to solve their problems.

  
‘Their' is the unexpected, but not unwelcomed, result of Nikka and Alistair's influence. Sometimes Svetlana says she's whipped, that Nikka put a leash on her neck to pull her everywhere she wants. Not that Lana finds anything wrong with that. A smile is always curving her lips when she says it, and Mickey is way too amused to mock her. Like her sister, Svetlana has thick skin and even thicker walls to get around, so seeing her that smitten with the woman that wants her back just as much makes his days easier.  
This probably wouldn’t be the cause if it wasn’t for Alistair.

  
Fucking Alistair. The first time Mickey talked to him for more than ten minutes minute was… well.

  
“What are you doing here? I gave Tom the money this morning.”

  
Alistair Slora is not good news.

  
He’s the man behind almost all drug and gun dealing in Illinois, “friends” with the police, not-so-strangely liked (or feared) by a lot of south-side families. He’s one of the heirs of a famous, never-spoken-about mob boss that dominated the scene on the late 70’s and early 80’s but was murdered because he got too cocky having a lot of enemies around. Alistair and his sister, Colene, two incredibly smart and not-so-surprisingly self-righteous betas, played well and indebted the right people at the right times. It was a shock to exactly no one that knew who they were when Colene married a future governor.

  
They know what they’re doing, they take no risks, and that’s why Mickey doesn’t like seeing Alistair on his porch when he comes back from the store. 

  
“Yeah, you always pay on time, Mickey,” he says smiling, like his presence isn’t a bad thing at all.

  
“Then you’re here because?”, he’s not about to let this man do whatever he intends to; Mickey has an idea of what he wants, people like to talk about his preference for omegas. Everyone that surrounds Alistair is probably so far up his ass they can’t see the light, but here, on his house, Mickey’s not doing the same. He has enough self-satisfied men and alphas on his life already.

  
“I just wanted to say hi to one of my best dealers.”

  
Mickey can’t help it. He laughs.

  
“Yeah, right,” he doesn’t deal as much as other; sometimes barely gets by with the bills even with Svetlana, Mandy and Iggy helping him out. “We in trouble?”, having Tony, Joey and Colin as family means you can always be in serious shit unknowingly because they’re idiots that tend to not weight out the cons and pros of doing something like, for example, fucking other’s partners or spouses. Tony got shot twice for that.

  
“Not at all,” Alistair shakes his head, hands on his coat pockets. “How old are you Mickey?”

  
What in the hell did Mickey do to deserve having this asshole here?

  
“Eighteen.”

  
“How far along are you?”

  
Fuck.

  
He’s one of those fetishists.

  
Of fucking course.

  
“Look, I ain’t interested, man. I’m married and-“

  
“And I’m not here to proposition you, Mickey.”

  
“Oh, really?”

  
“Really,” Alistair says and walks closer. “I just happen to know how hard pregnancies are for omegas here on the south-side.” He doesn’t look down at Mickey’s belly, his blue eyes focused on Mickey’s face. He’s got an intense stare; no wonder people prefer not to confront him. Even with his long blonde locks, and the simple (almost generic) clothes he uses, Alistair holds himself with enough confidence and tranquility to be intimidating when he wants to. His presence reminds Mickey of a few alphas he’s met. “If it’s not an abusive partner, it’s a neglecting one-“

  
“Not my case.”

  
“-or a dysfunctional family and fucked up relationships.”

  
“You know nothing about me.” Mickey doesn’t like nosiness. Alistair may be his boss, but that doesn’t mean he’s got the right to analyze him, to judge his life and the people in it.

  
“You are married to a female alpha prostitute. Pregnant, but unbonded. Resigned to give birth, but surely not thrilled by the idea of a future with that baby. Svetlana mentioned a boy, not your unborn son, but an alpha you used to fuck before her-“

  
“Svetlana? How do you know her?”

  
Alistair smiles again.

  
“I know the omega she’s with.”

  
Ah.

  
Mickey feels a heavy weigh settling on the pit of his stomach. It’s got nothing to do with anger of jealousy, but biology, secondary gender dynamics. It doesn’t matter that Mickey’s never felt attracted to female alphas, Svetlana is the father of the child he’s carrying, his alpha in the most basic of senses, and a part of him doesn’t fucking like the confirmation of Svetlana having someone else. 

  
That’s just how things are, how they will be for as long as he’s pregnant with her fucking spawn. 

  
There’s a reason why some omegas that were raped and conceive sometimes end up in ‘relationships’ with their rapist, just for the hormone-induced “affection” –Mickey read about it online (of fucking course they never tell kids about that on school); it’s an evolutionary behavior to ensure survival, the care of a fully-capable alpha that won’t leave them– to wear off after giving birth and no longer needing someone to protect them. Most of those omegas also don’t develop a bond with the child and give them up for adoption before leaving the alpha. Or killing them. There are a few stories with a good ending.

  
That’s life in this fucked up world.

  
“What’s his name?” he asks just to know, to have that knowledge without Svetlana telling him; which she won’t.

  
“Her.” Alistair clarifies. “Her name’s Nikka. Pretty girl. Tall. Blond.”

  
Figures.

  
They really couldn’t have married less-compatible people.

  
“Alright,” he shrugs, “that’s what you came here for? To tell me my husband’s cheating on me?”

  
Alistair smiles.

  
“Of course not. You don’t care about she does or does not.”

  
Perceptive. Or just reasonably smart. It’s not hard to see the whole drug-dealing, pregnant omega and illegal immigrant, hooker alpha are not exactly the factors for a good relationship. If a relationship at all.

  
“Then? What do you want?”

  
The beta walks even closer, and Mickey lets his bag full of groceries on the ground in an instant, suspicious about whatever the hell Alistair wants and cursing his damn brothers for not being around when he needs them. He could’ve taken Alistair months ago, but now he feels (is) vulnerable, the bump starting to get on his way, his instincts telling him to stay far away from especially dangerous situations.

  
“I wonder if you would believe me if I just tell you…”, he says slow, his voice so gentle it almost sounds unsure. Mickey blinks, a tingling feeling crawling up his back, his hands itching with a strange urgency to touch Alistair’s neck, to press the pads of his fingers against his nape and-

  
Alistair tilts his head slightly to the side and Mickey forces down a sound that he feels reverberating on his chest. Alistair looks good like that, neck bared and eyes downcast, fixed on Mickey’s hidden belly. Look so good. Feels so right. Mickey’s mouth waters. Betas don’t have particularly strong scents, but this close, Alistair smells…

  
“Are you really sure you’re O.K.? Have you been to the obstetrician?”

  
“Twice. The last was two months ago.”

  
Alistair nods, eyes still downcast like he doesn’t dare to look directly at Mickey’s face. Like he’s not allowed. Like he’s already crossed a line and he’s waiting for a sign.

Mickey doesn’t know what is happening, but he keeps himself calm, breathing deeply and not taking his eyes off Alistair.

  
“I want you to be fine… I want the baby to be healthy, no matter what.”

  
Something else surges through Mickey’s chest. It’s warm. Filling him in a way he’s never experienced before. There’s a little snap in the back of his head, and then he understands.

  
“Fuck.” There’s a sheepish smile creeping its way to Alistair’s lips. “How long have you known?”

  
Alistair picks up the grocery bag.

  
“Just for a few months. I was waiting for the right moment, but now I see there’s no such thing in these cases and decided to come figure it out together.”

  
Now Mickey’s six months along and his life has changed for the second time in less than a year. 

  
Nikka’s a ray of sunshine, full or energy and always smiling, moving, doing something or going somewhere. She’s only nineteen and Mickey knows almost nothing about her outside her relationship with Svetlana, but that’s alright, he doesn’t need more than she’s already given them. 

  
Alistair has a lot of business to take care of even with Colene by his side, so they don’t see each other as much as they’d like to. He takes Mickey to the doctor and pays attention to everything the woman says about the baby’s development.

  
“Did not think he would be like this,” Svetlana tells Mickey one night when Nikka’s asleep and Alistair has gone back to his house. She’s making coffee and French toast like it’s nine in the morning and she’s about to have breakfast, but Mickey just ate five waffles a few minutes ago, and it’s not like any of them give a shit. “Family man, taking care of an omega better than the omega’s husband.”

  
“Nikka takes better care of you that I’d ever could… or want to,” he dismisses with a shrug. Neither he nor Svetlana had a choice in it. Terry had hated Mickey’s guts since he was a little child that never kept his mouth shut and dared to inherit his mother’s coloring; just like Mandy, that looked so much like their dead mother, but had the audacity to not be an omega.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. I would like to know what you think of it.


End file.
